


How Beautiful

by PartoftheShadowWorld



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartoftheShadowWorld/pseuds/PartoftheShadowWorld
Summary: Literally my very first attempt at fanfic so bear with me! The scene at the Rook's house after the altercation with Emma, Julian, and Ty. Kit attempts to deal with his feelings and the frustration at even having any feelings about a shadowhunter in the first place...





	1. Chapter 1

The door slammed shut behind Johnny Rook as he stalked out of Kit’s room. His entire face had  
turned purple while yelling at his son; yelling about his foolishness, about how pointless all the  
hours he had spent teaching Kit to be aware of his surroundings had apparently been if a barely  
adolescent shadowhunter could get the drop on him so easily. 

“You’ve grown too comfortable Kit, just downright lazy! Being ‘Johnny Rook’s son’ won’t save  
you forever. You need to be on constant guard, especially if the nephilim are around!” He spat  
the word out like a curse word, like it soured his mouth worse than last night’s mystery stew  
dinner. 

Kit had just let Johnny go until he had worn himself out. He couldn’t come to his own defense  
because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what was going on himself. How could  
he tell notorious nephilim hater Johnny Rook that he had been mesmerized by his almost  
assassin and therefore slow to react to the attack. He could barely even admit that much to  
himself, frustrated at his own inability to decipher his torrent of emotions and the apparent  
incompetence they had plagued him with. 

He shook his head in frustration, as if he could physically dislodge the image of the startling  
steel gray eyes that seemed to be burned into his mind. 

What was it about those eyes that seemed impossible to forget? The color was interesting, sure,  
but not exactly extraordinarily rare to find. He closed his own light blue eyes in concentration,  
actually bringing the picture into focus on purpose this time, unlike the thousand involuntary  
times just since it happened barely an hour ago. It came eerily easy, much too easily for  
comfort. 

No, it wasn’t just the color, it was what seemed to lie within those eyes. There was something  
deeper within them, behind the cool headed determination with which he had held the knife to  
Kit’s throat, someone the boy had never met before. But he supposed that’s how all nephilim  
acted, going in seraph blades blazing, attacking first stopping to ask questions later (if anyone  
had lived anyways). Kit had to suppress the familiar impulse to roll his eyes, leaving them  
closed to keep the picture clear. 

That was right though, wasn’t it? That they had not met until today? Gazing into those eyes had  
left had left Kit with a strange but warm sense of comfortable familiarity, like he had been looking  
into them all his life. They felt like home. More so than this place did…. The thought made Kit  
groan inwardly, what was wrong with him?? 

Kit opened his eye and shook his head again. What a ridiculous thought that had been. So the  
boy was beautiful, so what? He ignored the image that flooded into his mind with that word, of  
dark, long lashes against clear pale skin. 

How beautiful.  
Kit set his jaw stubbornly. If a life in the shadow market had taught him anything, it’s that all  
beautiful things were dangerous. The fair folk got that name for a reason, and it sure hadn’t  
been for their glittering personalities or sparkling sense of humor. In fact, the most beautiful also  
seemed to be the most deadly. The most human like in appearance fey of the courts were the  
most gorgeous and alluring, though with just enough mysterious small differences from us to  
make them inhuman, were much more perilous and unpredictable than their creature like  
brethren. Why would shadowhunters, the most dangerous of all the species he had always been  
taught, be any different? They were the closest in resemblance to mundanes but they couldn’t  
be more distinctly separate from them. 

He paced around the room, fists clutched at his sides, unable to fully discern all the emotions he  
had felt during the short time he was held hostage. There of course had been his initial shock at  
being ambushed in the basement of his own house. After that had come a small twinge of fear  
followed by rage at that fleeting moment of weakness and the person who had caused it. But  
then that had all been eclipsed by the rush of feelings that flooded his mind as he had studied  
the boy’s face. Kit flushed at the memory. He couldn’t remember having felt that way about  
anyone before, not even the flirtatious girls at school. 

Kit’s head hurt from the earlier confrontation and all the confusion it had left him with. He finally  
laid down, tossing and turning until he finally fell into a fitful sleep. A fitful sleep filled with  
bewitching blade colored eyes. 

How beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we don't get to see some of Kit's reactions to things in the beginning. This scene takes place right after they get back to institute after Emma, Jem, and Tessa saved Kit from the mantid demons.

Kit couldn’t take it anymore, too much had happened in too short a time. He paced in front of the bed in the vacant bedroom he had chosen in the institute. There wasn’t anything particularly suspicious or special about it. It had a few pieces of furniture; a bed, a dresser, bedside table, and a bathroom connected to it. That bit was a relief, he wouldn’t have to leave the room for anything anytime soon. He didn’t want to face them, any of them. Not Emma, not the tall, dark man, or the brunette with the friendly face who seemed to go with him, like a matching set. Tessa, she had said her name was. Tessa Gray though she said it had once been Herondale, the name she claimed he shared with her. He especially didn’t want to face the boy who had held the knife, the beautiful boy, he thought begrudgingly. The beautiful boy he had still not quite understood his own feelings for. He hadn’t thought much about it since that day, he’d tried desperately not to, afraid of the conclusion he might come to, for none of them could be good for Johnny Rook’s son. He had laughed when he had seen the boy, when he had brought up his previous attack on him, because of the boy’s response. “It was just work.Not personal,” he had said. Kit laughed, part in hysterics about his father and part because of his apparent relief that boy seemed to hold nothing against him. It wasn’t always to tell when someone was holding something pointy at your throat.

Still, try as he might he couldn’t block out those piercing gray eyes from sneaking up on him in his dreams. In one dream he had plunged straight into them, completely losing himself in their depth, not caring if he drowned for he longed to discover what lie behind them. In another dream they had appeared before him again, this time appearing remote and close off from him. He had been unable to even glimpse their intricacy. He wasn’t sure which outcome had scared him most, both had left him drenched in sweat and unable to go back to sleep. Though, he supposed what he ought to fear most was the fact that he had such strong feelings on the matter at all. 

He strode into the bathroom and splash some cool water on his face. He admonished himself for even thinking about any of this now as he buried his face in a towel. He had more important things to focus on, like how surely it was impossible for him to be an effing shadowhunter?! One of the ridiculously strict, overbearing, yet somehow wild wild west like enforcers of the law? Well, their laws anyways, the hardly consulted anyone else when writing it. He tried to roll his eyes at the thought, but just couldn’t manage it. The truth was he was more hurt than anything else that Johnny his this from him. His father had always had many secrets, sure, you didn’t get the nickname “Rook the crook” from being open and honest with everyone. But the fact that he kept such a large secret that involved Kit himself, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get past that.

Kit gripped the sides of the sink and stared into the mirror. Did he look any different now that he knew the angel’s blood ran in his veins? He didn’t think so, he still had the same blond hair that tuffed out at weird angles after he ran his fingers through it, a bad habit Johnny had always tried to break him of. He still had the same pale blue eyes, sitting below light blond lashes, not at all as alluring as the long, dark lashes that framed those slate colored eyes and gave splashes of color to those otherwise pale cheeks . . .dammit! He was doing it again. He groaned in frustration and threw himself down on the bed. 

He just laid there, enjoying the silence and the way staring at the nondescript ceiling seemed to calm his mind. His whole body ached from the earlier battle with the mantid demons, and his mind and soul ached from all the revelations that had followed. Kit closed his eyes sleepily and finally let go, allowing himself to relax enough to drift off.

He awoke with a start, clutching a pillow close to his body like a shield. He had a feeling nightmares would be a regular part of life for awhile after today. He looked around the room, feeling disoriented and remembered where he was. Sleeping had only seemed to make his aches and pains feel worse, he realized when he sat up. He eased himself up gingerly from the bed, standing up to take inventory of himself. He had a scratch on his face, a long gash along his arm and various bruises and sore muscles but that seemed to be all. He was sure most people would call him lucky because of that, though he sure didn’t feel it. 

He looked toward the bathroom intent on taking a shower when he realized he didn’t have any clean clothes to change into. He set his shoulders, knowing he had to finally leave this room ad venture out into the institute. He shot one more wistful look at the bathroom, the enticing idea of a hot shower at the forefront of his mind, as he opened the door. He tripped on his first step out into the hallway on something big and warm, which turned out to be none other than the beautiful boy, lying in the hallway. Kit cursed loudly when he hit the floor, and curse again, this time silently, at the description that appeared in his mind on sight.

Kit sat up, rubbing the arm he had landed on, and looked at him. “What are you doing down here?” he asked. He took off his headphones and looked at Kit, well at the bottom half of his face anyways. His lack of eye contact gave Kit a chance to study him before he answered. His eyes and their lashes were as captivating as he remembered. His hair was an inky black that brushed the top of his ears. From what Kit could see of him sprawled on the floor he appeared to be tall and lanky, with long limbs. 

“I was just waiting out here for you, for whenever you were ready to come out.” He shrugged as if to say that was a perfectly reasonable answer that people gave for lying on the floor all the time.   
“Thank you?” was all Kit could really think to say in response. He looked down, avoiding the boy’s eyes by examining his own grimy clothes. Well, at least he didn’t have to go searching far for someone to ask.   
“Do you know where I can get some clean clothes?” He glanced up and noticed the boy’s gaze had followed his own down to his clothes.   
“You can borrow some of mine,” he offered.  
“Thanks . . ?” Kit left the end of the sentence hanging in the air like a question. “Ty,” he answered, “it’s Tiberius but everyone calls me Ty.”

Not everyone, Kit thought, though he could hardly imagine himself telling Ty what he had been secretly calling him. He repeated the name back to him, getting used to the feel of it on his tongue. “Ty. Thanks Ty.” 

Damn. He really needed to work on calling him that. And only that.


	3. Chapter 3

The beautiful boy-Ty-he corrected himself, got to his feet and reached down to offer his hand to Kit. Kit grasped it and allowed him to help pull him to his own feet. The tough was fleeting, but Kit tried to savor it. He hadn’t had much physical contact with anyone since everything had happened, since his whole world had been turned upside down. He’d never been one to show much affection, something he’d picked up from Johnny. He hadn’t been a particularly cuddly teddy bear himself. Still, there was something in that simple touch that seemed to reassure Kit and make him feel as if his reality wasn’t crumbling beneath him. 

Ty motioned down the hall, “Come on, I’ll show you to my room, where we can pick out something for you to wear.” Kit only nodded in response and followed the black haired boy as he started walking. The boy moved like a shadowhunter, silent with a sort of dangerous grace to his movements. And yet, he didn’t exactly seem like all the other nephilim Kit had encountered. He didn’t seem to have Emma’s boyfriend’s (what was that guy’s name again anyway?) cockiness, or Julian’s carefully controlled and hidden expressions, or Emma’s air of deadliness, and yet Kit had seen just how dangerous he could be. His lack of eye contact, which Kit had noticed the first time they “met,”was one of the things that set him apart. His hands had been surprisingly soft, with small calluses at the base of his fingers, the only sign of the warrior they belonged to. 

Ty turned into an open doorway at the end of the hallway and Kit followed him. He stood against the wall awkwardly as Ty crossed the room to the dresser and started opening drawers. Kit glanced around his room, unable to control his curiosity. The room had the same furniture his did, but unlike his this one had personal touches everywhere. Books lined the shelves on Ty’s wall, on closer inspection they were novels, specifically Sherlock Holmes. Kit was surprised at that, he didn’t think nephilim did anything other than fight, whether it be with demons, downworlders, or amongst themselves. He supposed they took a little time out of their days to come up with new ways to be giant douches but that was about it. They were like jocks on steroids. The fact that not only did Ty have interests outside of the law and how to enforce it, but he was interested in something rooted in mundane pop culture. The more he learned about Ty they more interested he became. He looked over at Ty piling various articles of clothing on the bed, arranged in neat stacks. Finally he stood back and gestured to them while looking in Kit’s direction.  
“Here’s a few of everything to last you for awhile before we can go out and get you some new things. It’s a good thing we’re the same age and about the same size,” - yeah, if Kit’s baby fat was replaced with sinewy muscle Kit thought bitterly- “otherwise you might be forced to wear whatever Emma can find at the local rummage shop in a pinch. Though, if you don’t mind pajama pants with four leaf clovers and the words ‘get lucky’ on them I suppose it wouldn’t matter.” He added at Kit’s confused look, “Mark doesn’t seem to mind his,” and he shrugged. 

Kit was torn at whether to grimace or burst into laughter at the thought of a shadowhunter, another Blackthorn no less, in such pants. The internal struggle must’ve left him with a strange look on his face because he caught Ty actually looking directly at him and furrowing his brow. “Oh no this will work great, thanks,” Kit added quickly. He didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Well, to Ty anyways, as far as he was concerned the other nephilim could kick rocks. He was relieved to see the crease in his dark brow smooth out as the worried expression left his pale face. Ty gathered up the clothes and handed them over. Kit turned and headed back in the direction he thought his room was. He had been so caught up in trying to find his way back that he hadn’t noticed the footsteps behind him until he finally found it. He looked over his shoulder and saw a flash of black hair and gray eyes. Ty was settling himself back on the floor across from Kit’s door, book in hand and headphones in. Kit watch him settle in and just shrugged to himself before putting away everything he had been given.

Finally Kit was able to shower, to wash away everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. He washed off the demon ichor, the shock of his new reality, the hurt of Johnny’s secrets. He turned the faucet far enough for the water to turn scalding hot. He welcomed the slight pain on his skin, it helped him feel like he was shedding all the burden from his old life and helping him start fresh. Though what he was going to do with this new start he didn’t exactly know. He pondered the possibilities as he dried off and picked some clothes out to wear from the stack Ty had given him. He supposed he could set up shop similar to the one Johnny had run, just in some other part of the country where no one would recognize him. He may not technically be old enough to be out on his own yet but you’d be surprised what a difference confidence made in people’s perception of you and your age. If there was one thing Kit was it was confident. Or, at least he had been. Before his confidence came from his knowledge of the basic truths that made up his life. Now most of those truths Kit had trusted in so much had lost the ground they had stood on, not unlike the living room in the Rook’s old house. Could you really call it a living room if there was no floor on which to do the living part, Kit wondered sarcastically. 

He tried to think of a different life he might lead as he picked a t-shirt out and pulled it on. He could just say good riddance to the shadow world completely and live life as a typical mundane. Maybe that’s what he should do. Johnny’s dealings within the shadow world had all been dangerous and led to nothing more than destroyed house, death, and a kid who couldn’t decide if he could forgive him for all of it. But, how does someone get out of this world when they’ve been knee deep in it their entire life? How do you try to act as if all the monsters of your worst nightmare don’t exist, that they’re only a figment of imagination? He couldn’t even go to Halloween parties as a kid, he’d spend the entire time correcting other kids’ costumes. “You know vampires’ teeth don’t really look like that, right?” He’d asked one kid with a ridiculous set of fake fangs in his mouth. The kid had looked like he had wanted to cry, whether at Kit’s insult to his costume or the idea that vampires were real he didn’t know. He’d decided to keep his mouth shut about how ridiculous it was when the kid had pretended to cringe in fear when someone had thrust garlic pizza at him with playfulness. If he was afraid they existed and might get him one day Kit wouldn’t take one of the few things he thought he could defend himself with. He had felt bad for the kid and his naivete at the time but now he just wanted to laugh at the irony that now the leader of the LA vampire clan owned a pizza parlor. Kit laughed to himself. Had he ever been that young really? That innocent? No, he didn’t think so. “All the stories are true” Johnny had told him when Kit had been barely old enough to remember. Instead of telling Kit the monsters under his bed weren’t real he had told Kit about their strengths and weaknesses and how to defeat them. His bedtime stories seemed more out of a “how to” book than fairytales. 

Kit sighed as he finished tying his shoes. No, the blissfully ignorant mundane life wasn’t for him. He’d never be able to walk by a tree in the park and not wonder if the little nixies that likely inhabited it were as mischievous and spiteful as the ones that lived in the bushes in his front yard. He couldn’t unsee that part of the world even if he wanted to, not unless he were to poke out his own eyes. Kit groaned, back to square one on the whole new life thing then. He stood up and glanced at the mirror on the opposite wall. Ty’s clothes did seem to fit him well enough. They all seemed to be fairly plain and dark colored. A man of simple tastes then, Kit could appreciate that. “A man after my own heart.” Kit whispered so faintly he barely even heard it himself. He shook his head, he was being ridiculous again. He set his shoulders after he approved of his appearance and strode to the door. A pair of piercing gray eyes looked up at him as he opened it.


	4. Chapter 4

Ty glanced up as he heard the door open, careful to hold his place in the book in his lap. He’d   
been reading a biography an Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the mastermind behind his latest   
obsession, Sherlock Holmes. He was fascinated by the way Doyle’s mind worked, or at least he   
thought it might’ve worked. He had begun to wonder if Doyle could’ve been like him. Julian had   
always refused to admit it but Ty knew he was different from everyone else in his family,   
everyone else he had ever met really. He didn’t know what caused it, but he was sure he   
perceived the world differently. He didn’t like loud noises or the crowds of people that tended to   
cause them. Why were people always so noisy? Even his twin, the person he was closest to,   
biologically, socially, and in just about every other conceivable way, seemed unnecessarily loud   
at times. She did try her best to be quiet around him though, and he appreciated it. Though   
perhaps he had never expressed that to her directly and he realized he probably should. He   
often forgot to do simple things that seemed so trivial to him and yet so important to everyone   
else. That was something else he had trouble with, how others expressed themselves and   
reacted to things, and what emotions they demonstrated and when. Ty didn’t always understand   
them or why they were chosen over others, When Tavvy had lost his favorite toy why had he   
reacted to this realization with sadness instead of anger? Or better yet, why hadn’t he just   
picked out a new favorite and move on? That’s what Ty would’ve done, and it seemed an easy   
choice. Anything else seemed so useless to the situation. But, he had not told Tavvy what he   
would’ve done, he had learned that it was sometimes best to just keep his mouth shut at   
particular times since all that came out were facts and honest opinions. He had never felt the   
need to tell lies or even half truths or most other things people seemed want to do. Most of   
these things didn’t bother him, he had learned things to cope and adapt. He avoided crowded   
areas, usually kept things he wanted to say to himself in most situations and when things got to   
be too loud or just too much in general he would put his headphones in. Classical music was the   
only kind of legitimate music as far as he was concerned and it always soothed his frayed   
nerves. All other kinds he considered to be pointless noise. Did Sir Arthur Conan Doyle go   
through these things before or even after he brought the famous detective to life? Unfortunately   
Doyle had passed long before Ty’s time, though there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give to have   
one conversation with the novelist. . . 

Ty’s eyes swam back into focus when he realized Kit had been talking to him and looking at him   
and looking at him expectantly. “Huh?” Ty asked, underutilizing his ever expanding vocabulary,   
he realized yet again. Kit furrowed his brow in response to his question, “I said, what are you   
still doing out here?” Ty repeated what he had said earlier when Kit had asked the same   
question, “Just waiting for you, I wanted to be here for when you were ready to come out.” Ty   
shrugged. Kit didn’t look like he was convinced. That’s ok, Ty thought, he was used to that. 

Kit had watched Ty the entire time he had zoned out. He had appeared to be entirely lost in his   
own mind and Kit was hesitant to bring him back to reality. After all, this world seemed entirely   
too complicated and frankly, screwed up. Who wouldn’t want to retreat inside their head when   
given the chance? Well, actually Kit didn’t particularly want to be either place at the moment.   
Watching Ty’s face while entranced made him wonder what it was like inside the depths of the   
teen aged nephilim. Ty’s gray eyes reflected the witchlight in the hallway back at Kit, almost as if   
to deny him entry. While he had enjoyed gazing at Ty openly while he wouldn’t notice, the   
thought caused him to crease his brow anxiously. He didn’t like the idea of being shut out of Ty’s   
mind, to endlessly wonder what he was thinking but never actually knowing. At that moment Ty   
looked up at him and Kit almost panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind in   
response to Ty’s “Huh?” Ty’s answer that he was one again just waiting for Kit to emerge from   
his room was innocent enough but it left Kit wondering if he had some ulterior motive. It was a   
leftover habit from his time with Johnny and all his back alley dealing. He wanted to believe Ty,   
he really did. If his anxiety played out on his face Ty didn’t show it. 

Kit’s growling stomach broke the silences. He gave an awkward smile in an attempt to hide his   
embarrassment. “Hey, you guys have anything to eat around here?” he asked. Ty nodded,   
“Come on, I’ll show you where the kitchen is.” He got up and tucked his book under his arm. Kit   
tried to read the title before Ty covered it with his arm, curious if it was a novel like the ones that   
had lined the shelves in Ty’s room. Ty perked up as they started walking and said “Oh and   
you’re in luck because my brother Mark cooked earlier and I think there’s leftovers. He’s an   
excellent cook.” Kit couldn’t remember the last time he ate so at this point he’d take almost   
anything. They made their way downstairs and around the corner to the kitchen. Kit tried to take   
all his surroundings in on the way, he’d barely noticed anything the last time he was downstairs   
as angry and distraught as he’d been. This way he could try to plan en escape route if he   
needed it. 

The kitchen was surprisingly small for such a large building with an uncountable amount of   
bedrooms. It seems the nephilim didn’t prioritize some of the finer arts like cooking. He was half   
surprised they didn’t eat their own prey, as savage and unfeeling as Johnny had always made   
them out to be. The “leftovers” Ty had mentioned turned out to be a myriad of burnt or   
underdone breakfast food, complete with runny eggs and blackened toast. Kit wasn’t that   
desperate. He settled for making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Ty watched   
him from where he sat at the table. Knowing those steel gray eyes were on him made Kit   
nervous and he kept dropping things. After picking up the jar of peanut butter for the fourth time   
he sat down across from Ty. He chewed slowly, worried he might do something to humiliate   
himself further. He didn’t want those beautiful eyes looking at him like he was an idiot. 

Ty had watching Kit bustle around the kitchen. He couldn’t help his interest in the boy. He didn’t   
have much experience with people outside of his family, they had always seemed somewhat   
isolated from the rest of the world. He didn’t understand the other boy’s apparent nervousness.   
What was so daunting about making a sandwich? Though he supposed it would be nerve   
wracking to be in a new place and surrounded only by strangers. He knew he would’ve   
absolutely hated that. He made a decision that he would try to help Kit settle in and adjust as   
best he could. Like his family, especially Livvy and Jules, always did for him. He didn’t admit it to   
himself then, but in the back of his mind he was glad to have a reason to spend time with Kit.


End file.
